Time passed and she did her best to not think of her thirst, her hunger, how the hard boards pressed into her shoulder and hip bones. She ruminated on the idea to come to Swallow Hill, at what had seemed like a good plan. It had been her only choice—or was it? She dwelled on what had taken place and her decision to disappear. Butch Crandall hadn’t given her time to get her head on straight after what happened with Warren, and with what he proposed, what he’d threatened to do if she didn’t, she couldn’t have stayed. Nobody would’ve understood what happened, even if she’d tried to explain. Nobody but Warren. She was certain Eugene would’ve had her arrested, put on trial, locked up. And here she was, locked up anyway. Maybe this was God’s way of punishing her.
Her mind went over and over this, until she must’ve drifted off. Sometime later a stabbing pain in her lower abdomen roused her, and disoriented, she lifted her hand to press on her belly, and it knocked against the hard surface of the lid. It took her a few seconds and then she realized where she was, and she had to control the urge to bang on the top, to scream for help. The pain came again, sharp and deep, persistent now, as it had for the past fourteen years, once a month like clockwork. She’d not accounted for this, least not when she was in a situation where she couldn’t manage it. Her throat was terribly dry, like she’d been breathing with her mouth open for days. She coughed, and as she did, a warm, wet sensation spread from between her legs. Why now?
Her eyes adjusted to the interior, and through a small gap in the lid, a tiny sputtering star appeared in the night sky, and she stared at it until her eyes closed again, and she slept.
Chapter 15
Del
Cobb was an early riser like Del, yet no sound came from his little shack. The two shanties were fairly close together and poorly made, so normally Del would hear him as he stamped his feet into his boots every morning, then, like clockwork, came the rattling of his coffeepot. Once, he even thought he’d heard something like crying, but had doubted his hearing. This morning as he stood outside, there was nothing but silence. He wanted to let the kid know he needn’t worry about his counts too much. He’d be sure to keep an eye on how he was doing, maybe cut him some slack if he was only off by a couple hundred trees or so. Although, he’d not tell him that. The way he saw it, him not making his numbers sure didn’t come from lack of trying. After another minute or two, he went back inside.
For the first time since he’d hung it above the door, he reached for his shotgun. His plan was to kill small game and give whatever he shot to his work hands. They weren’t allowed weapons, and while they were skilled at setting traps, getting fresh game was hit or miss given the work hours. As he went out, he looked once more to see if Cobb was up. The tiny shack remained dark and still. It was at least thirty minutes or so before the work wagon would start rounding everyone up, and it could be Cobb was only catching him some extra shut-eye.
On the way to the barn, Del saw the camp coming to life with some men washing and shaving their faces on their porches. Women pumped fresh water into buckets while calling out to one another. Others were already in their gardens picking tomatoes or beans, or sitting on stumps and shucking corn for supper that night. A few gathered eggs from their hens. He made his way to the barn, sniffing the deep, rich scent of horse, hay, and manure. The smells conjured thoughts of the two horses his pap had used for pulling their wagon. He led Ruby out of her stall and gave her some feed and water while he cleaned it out. After he finished, a slim edge of molten red edged the land. It was time. He saddled her and lifted himself onto her back.
Patting her neck, he said, “It’s me and you now, old girl.”
At the hang-up ground designated for the day, the men who’d worked for Ballard unloaded from the wagon and moved to stand in a cluster, talking amongst themselves. They quieted as he approached, more nervous seeming than the day before. He took it in stride. They had to get used to him, how he was, though he’d said he was fair like Ballard, they’d have to see it to believe it. He dismounted and immediately noticed who was missing.
“Where’s Cobb?”
He looked at each of them. He couldn’t read their faces, he didn’t know them well enough, and besides, most coloreds were used to hiding their thoughts and feelings. Their faces were like staring at an empty glass.
He asked another way. “Won’t he picked up by Clyde?”
Ah, there, a barely noticeable twitch from the one called Birdie.
He homed in on him and said, “Can’t nobody tell me if he got picked up or not?”